The Only Candidate
by Elphin
Summary: Remus is the only one who can do what Dumbledore requests but nobody, not even the most powerful man in the wizarding world, can understand the sacrifice Remus makes in order to do his job. With the only comfort in his life gone, Remus struggles to do wha


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**A/N: **This fic is mostly about Remus/Sirius but there are hints of Remus/Tonks as well. As an extra warning, this contains slash and hints of non-consensual sex so take that into consideration before reading. I hope you enjoy it! I love hearing feedback so review if you can.

**Warnings:** Once again, **SLASH and non-consensual sex.  
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**Disclaimer:** Sadly, I don't own anything. It all belongs to the wonderful J.K Rowling.

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**The Only Candidate**

_By: Elphin_

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"Nearly all of them are on Voldemort's side. Dumbledore wanted a spy and here I was...ready made."

-HBP, page 313

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A cloaked figure was walking swiftly in the surrounding blackness of the cold night. There was a waxing crescent moon in the sky but it made no noticeable difference in the visibility of the narrow forest pathway. The pale light of the moon seemed to be absorbed by the tall treetops looming above the forest floor they guarded. 

It was gently snowing but the wispy flakes disappeared as soon as they reached the earth. The only sounds that could be heard were the crunching of feet on broken twigs and the fevered drawing of breath. They echoed in the distance and slowly dissipated into the next melodic rhythm of cracks, snaps and gasps. The figure started to jog, almost comically, hopping up and down on the tip of his toes as if there were human bones beneath his feet.

After a few moments of this charade, he stopped and veered sharply to the left. If one had thought him mad for running like a shell-shocked squirrel, they would have been certain of this assessment as he pulled out a thin stick of wood and began chanting under his breath. The strip of wood lit up like a flare and the man bent double, trailing the light along the thick mossy bed beneath him.

After a few moments he found what he was looking for. He peered intently at a patch of moss that looked exactly like its neighbors and pressed the wood into the soft grassy substance. A split second later, the area turned a bright scarlet color and a white symbol appeared in the exact center. It was shaped like a sideways Z with a swift stroke down the middle and the man sighed upon its appearance.

He whispered a few inaudible words and when he stood back, a trapdoor with a thick brass handle was revealed. The man took hold of the handle and pulled the door open with a great heave, staring for a moment at the receding staircase that led deep into the recesses of the earth. Then, with another weary sigh, he carefully moved down the rickety stairs, closing the door above him as he went.

When he reached the bottom he was faced with a series of spacious tunnels. They were lit with fiery blue torches presiding evenly on the walls. Straight ahead there was a long hallway with a single door at the end and two more tunnels veered to the left and right, each with a number of doors along its length.

The man lowered his hood. His features were sickly and tired, but his hazel eyes twinkled with a rare kindness. He had graying, light-brown hair that was drawn back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck and his thick brow was furrowed in a concoction of deep thought. He was very tense and perhaps he realized this, for he closed his eyes and inhaled steadily and slowly and then exhaled in the same pattern. After a few minutes of doing so he appeared more relaxed and headed toward the door straight ahead, tucking his wand into his belt.

The door had a heavy, gold knocker, and the man grasped it firmly and pushed it forward twice. Each time it echoed loudly and reverberated something terrible in the dead silence of the empty tunnels. The man didn't flinch in the slightest and kept determined eyes trained on the door in front of him. He was waiting for a least ten minutes before the door finally slid open, revealing a big, rangy man with a labyrinth of matted grey hair piled over whiskery features.

He reeked of an unmistakable odor of blood and sweat and he had long, yellow, claw-like nails. He was wearing a long, black, silky robe that was open, displaying an even more complex maze of bushy grey tendrils. When he saw who was standing at the door, he smiled a very pointy and reddish-stained grin.

"Ah, Remus Lupin. How nice to see you," he hissed in a raspy voice. Icicles hung from his every word and he grinned slyly at his visitor, stepping back to invite him into the room.

"Fenrir," Remus acknowledged, nodding his head briskly and walking past the werewolf.

He stepped into a very handsome quarters. There was a four- poster bed with crimson hangings in the far, right-hand corner of the room and there was a marble fireplace with a roaring fire on the opposite wall. Two velvet couches and a table sat attractively in front of the hearth. A large wardrobe stood next to the bed and a small desk sat on the end. Despite the apparent warmth of the room, Remus grimaced slightly at a glance of the wooden table sitting directly behind the couches. Greyback had clearly been enjoying a meal before his arrival and the remnants of blood lay in its wake. Trying not to look at it, he sat down on the southward couch, Greyback taking the seat opposite to him.

"You have been quite a long time, Lupin," said the whiskery werewolf, with an air of a teacher chastising a student. He splayed his arms comfortably on the back of the couch. "We agreed you would report back in two weeks, did we not?"

"There were a few distractions. It was difficult to get away when Dumbledore insisted I take some time off and enjoy the Christmas holidays .I didn't want him to be suspicious," Remus replied in an even voice, though he did not meet Greyback's piercing gaze. "What about you? Did anything come up during my leave?"

Greyback chuckled menacingly and leaned forward. "I was thinking that perhaps we could discuss that later. Right now I'm more interested in your...news."

"I'm afraid I don't have much to report. Christmas doesn't prove to be Dumbledore's time of action."

Greyback chuckled again. "Your sense of humor amuses me, Lupin. But perhaps what is more enjoyable is the taste of your fear. It seeps out of your every word."

"What do I have to be afraid of, Fenrir?" Remus asked. His voice was steady but Greyback did not miss the slight trembling of his hands, which were folded neatly in his lap.

"I should be the one asking you that, Lupin. Your loyalty wavers in your voice. It is overwhelming. Every time you come here I keep wondering why I just don't kill you and be done with it. But then, you're weakness is so...desirable."

He then traced his chapped and crusted lips with a scaly tongue and trailed his eyes over Remus' frail profile. Remus forced himself to meet the werewolf's gaze and had to fight back the immediate wave of repulsion that overwhelmed him. There was the usual caged lust in those black eyes that Remus knew without a doubt he would never be able to satiate. Greyback, ever impatient, always got what he wanted.

Remus didn't flinch when Greyback moved predatorily towards him. He didn't even shiver when a long, yellow fingernail traced scratching patterns along his cheek. The taste of blood was still raw in his mouth from Dumbledore's first order.

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He could feel sour, raspy breath on his neck but he made no move to open his eyes. His body was frigid, almost paralyzed, but he did not spare it any thought. He didn't have any thought to spare. His mind was simply a blank abyss and he was powerless to reach the end of its grasp. 

Finally he opened his eyes and stared at the bitter enclave that enclosed him and the creature sleeping next to him. He sat up mechanically and opened the hangings of the four-poster. The air was cold and damp. The fire had gone out completely and the room looked much less inviting without it. The remaining coals and cinders laughed sinisterly at their new occupant. They seemed to be shaking with a silent mirth.

Remus bent forward stiffly and retrieved his worn-out garments from the floor. His movements were swift, as each swish and flick of fabric covered another shining scar. He winced with every new application of clothing on his back and finally pulled on his cloak, drawing the hood once again. Without another glance at his surroundings, he headed straight for the door, down the half-lit hallway and up the trapdoor, shutting it roughly behind him.

There was no movement in his wake except the continuous absorption of blood into wood.

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The sun had risen in the distance but it made little difference to the looming shadow of the trees. A figure was moving along the twisted pathway of the forest floor, his pace never faltering, not even when he tripped on knobs or stumps sticking up nastily from the ground. He was robotic. Each motion was governed metallically, forced, stiff and creaking. 

One would have thought themselves mad as he hurtled himself out of the forest's grasp and spun around in a vanishing bundle of robes.

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Remus reappeared in a much more welcoming environment. The early morning sun lit the wide main street of Hogsmeade, though the familiar site of the Three Broomsticks only brought him the comfort of a drink of firewhisky to blunt his senses. He headed straight for it, eager for an excuse to move. 

As he walked, however, he felt the rush of blood toward his temple. It felt as though the build-up of stress was accumulating into a whirlwind inside of his head. The sign of the Three Broomsticks multiplied two or three times before his eyes and the orangey glow in the street became a mystical yellow fog. The shimmering fog engulfed him and his senses were slowly swimming toward the black hole in front of him.

He opened his eyes. The glare of the sun was blinding and his vision was already a disoriented tangle. But the cobbled street sign was slowly melding back into one entity and the fog was lifting itself away. His head was thumping and banging but he ignored it and sat up.

He felt saliva accumulate in his mouth and the familiar rise of bile in his throat. He flung himself into the nearest alleyway before it came in full force and fell on all fours, retching and spitting on the ground. When his stomach was emptied, he fell backward and weakly pulled himself toward the wall. He pressed his shredded back against it, ignoring the searing pain and closed his eyes.

A single tear slid down his battered cheek.

And he remembered.

_"I'm going to kill that slimy bastard for forgetting!"_

_The two sat on Sirius' bed, one leaning on the other. Remus was deathly pale and there were bags hanging under his eyes. He was shirtless and Sirius was running his wand along his lover's back, gently whispering healing spells while simultaneously spitting profanities concerning Snape._

_Remus couldn't help but smile at this indignant behavior. "Sirius, you know full well that Severus has the most taxing job out of all of us. I think I can forgive him for slipping up once."_

_Sirius' eyes grew bitter. "I know full well what Snape has to do, Remus."_

_Remus sighed. Sirius' gaze softened as he glanced at his lover's weary expression and he immediately pushed aside his bitter feelings._

_"I'm sorry," he said, carefully wrapping his arms around the werewolf. "I just hate seeing you like this."_

_Remus smiled again, and squeezed his hand. "Don't forget, I spent all of my years at Hogwarts without Wolfsbane."_

His body quivered. More tears slipped past their constraint. There had been a time when his cuts and bruises were healed by gentle hands. It was the only time in his life when he accepted them as a part of his existence and now the only thing accepting them was a cold, hard wall. He felt the lingering of Sirius' hands on his skin even more strongly than he felt the scratches made by Greyback's claws. Grief was sinking into his bones and he struggled desperately to push aside memories of his dark haired spitfire. There was nobody to heal him now, nobody to share his pain and he knew in his heart that he would have to accept it.

With renewed strength, he closed his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, just as he had done before entering Greyback's lair. He was startled out of his state of mind a few seconds later, however, by a voice somewhere in front of him.

"Wotcher, Remus."

Remus opened his eyes and saw a familiar mousy-haired young girl staring intently at him. She had a shadow of a smile on her face and her eyes showed understanding as she looked at his tired expression, though she did not ask questions. Instead she held out her hand and he accepted it gratefully. She pulled him up on his feet and indicated toward the Three Broomsticks. He nodded his head and they set out toward it, without a word.

She did not drop his hand, and, just for that moment, he did not ask her to.


End file.
